Ender's Shadow

I'm the cold inhuman intellect, right?" Bean laughed bitterly. "Genetically altered, therefore I'm just as alien as the Buggers.”
      Graff blushed. "No one's ever said that.”
      "You mean you've never said it in front of me. Knowingly. What you don't seem to understand is, sometimes you have to just tell people the truth and ask them to do the thing you want, instead of trying to trick them into it.”
      "Are you saying we should tell Ender the game is real?”
      "No! Are you insane? If he's this upset when the knowledge is unconscious, what do you think would happen if he knew that he knew? He'd freeze up.”
      "But you don't freeze up. Is that it? You should command this next battle?”
      "You still don't get it, Colonel Graff. I don't freeze up because it isn't my battle. I'm helping. I'm watching. But I'm free. Because it's Ender’s Game .”
      Bean's simulator came to life.
      "It's time," said Graff. "Good luck.”
      "Colonel Graff, Ender may go on strike again. He may walk out on it. He might give up. He might tell himself, It's only a game and I'm sick of it, I don't care what they do to me, I'm done. That's in him, to do that. When it seems completely unfair and utterly pointless.”
      "What if I promised him it was the last one?”
      Bean put on his headset as he asked, "Would it be true?”
      Graff nodded.
      "Yeah, well, I don't think it would make much difference. Besides, he's Mazer's student now, isn't he?”
      "I guess. Mazer was talking about telling him that it was the final exam.”
      "Mazer is Ender's teacher now," Bean mused. "And you're left with me. The kid you didn't want.”
      Graff blushed again. "That's right," he said. "Since you seem to know everything. I didn't want you.”
      Even though Bean already knew it, the words still hurt.
      "But Bean," said Graff, "the thing is, I was wrong." He put a hand on Bean's shoulder and left the room.
      Bean logged on. He was the last of the squadron leaders to do so.
      "Are you there?" asked Ender over the headsets.
      "All of us," said Bean. "Kind of late for practice this morning, aren't you?”
      "Sorry," said Ender. "I overslept.”
      They laughed. Except Bean.
      Ender took them through some maneuvers, warming up for the battle. And then it was time. The display cleared.
      Bean waited, anxiety gnawing at his gut.
      The enemy appeared in the display.
      Their fleet was deployed around a planet that loomed in the center of the display. There had been battles near planets before, but every other time, the world was near the edge of the display -- the enemy fleet always tried to lure them away from the planet.
      This time there was no luring. Just the most incredible swarm of enemy ships imaginable. Always staying a certain distance away from each other, thousands and thousands of ships followed random, unpredictable, intertwining paths, together forming a cloud of death around the planet.
      This is the home planet, thought Bean. He almost said it aloud, but caught himself in time. This is a simulation of the Bugger defense of their home planet.
      They've had generations to prepare for us to come. All the previous battles were nothing. These Formics can lose any number of individual Buggers and they don't care. All that matters is the queen. Like the one Mazer Rackham killed in the Second Invasion. And they haven't put a queen at risk in any of these battles. Until now.
      That's why they're swarming. There's a queen here.
      Where?
      On the planet surface, thought Bean. The idea is to keep us from getting to the planet surface.
      So that's precisely where we need to go. Dr. Device needs mass. Planets have mass. Pretty simple.
      Except that there was no way to get this small force of human ships through that swarm and near enough to the planet to deploy Dr. Device. For if there was anything that history taught, it was this: Sometimes the other side is irresistibly strong, and then the only sensible course of action is to retreat in order to save your force to fight another day.
      In this war, however, there would be no other day. There was no hope of retreat. The decisions that lost this battle, and therefore this war, were made two generations ago when these ships were launched, an inadequate force from the start. The commanders who set this fleet in motion may not even have known, then, that this was the Buggers' home world. It was no one's fault. They simply didn't have enough of a